Memoirs of a Rideshare Driver: The Head Injury
A true story of amnesia and recovery
He calls me before I get there and double checks that I’m coming to the right place. Even before we meet, I can tell something is off about him—whether it’s drugs or mental illness or something else. He’s coherent, but sounds a little distant, like he’s trying to make sense of things on a moment by moment basis.
He’s about my age and in decent shape, but his face is the same as his voice—eyes wandering, studying, never really locking on anything.
He’s not in the car long before he explains.
“Sorry, I get confused. I got hit by a car on my bike and I’m recovering from a head injury.”
“Oh wow. It hit you pretty hard then?”
“Apparently. I don’t remember it. I just remember I was heading home from the bar and then I was in the hospital. I don’t remember getting on the bike, don’t remember the car, don’t remember anything. It’s pretty weird, like there’s just this blank spot in my memory.”
“That’s scary.”
“Yeah, man. I woke up in the hospital and didn’t even know who I was. They asked me if I knew my name and I couldn’t think of it. I looked at the bracelet they give you where they write your name, and it said Christopher Doe on it—you know, like John Doe—and I was like, ‘Christopher Doe’ and the nurse was like, ‘That’s not your name.’” He laughs. “I knew it didn’t sound right, but it was on my wrist so I thought that must be it. It was funny though, she told me it wasn’t my name, but she didn’t tell me what my name was.”
“How long did it take for you to remember your name?”
“Well, my phone rang a few minutes later and it was my parole officer. She was like, ‘Matt, is that you?’ and I was like, ‘Uh… y-yeah… yeah, this is Matt.’”
“Did it come back to you? Like, did you know you were Matt as soon as she said it?”
“I wouldn’t say I knew it, but it sounded familiar. And then my wife came in and I didn’t recognize her. That freaked me out a bit.”
“I bet it freaked her out.”
“Yeah.”
“How long ago did you get hit?”
“The 15th, I guess.”
“So two weeks ago.”
“Uh… What’s today?”
“The 29th.”
“Okay. So… 15th to the 29th is…? Ugh. Man. I’ve always been really good at math and lately it’s like I can’t even do the most basic calculations.”
“It’s two weeks ago. Two weeks exactly.”
“If you say so. It’s wild. I used to fight competitively in the Army and I prided myself on the fact that nobody ever knocked me out. I thought it was impossible to knock me out, but it turns out all it took was a car.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I imagine that’d do it, no matter how much of a badass you are.”
“I guess.”
“Is stuff coming back to you pretty quickly now? Or are there still a lot of gaps?”
“I don’t know. I remember most of the important stuff, I think. I can’t remember my service. Just the fights, because I kept a record of those.”
I pull up to his house, thinking what a strange experience it must be to read through your own journals and try to remember who you are, to meet your wife again and have the relationship come back to you in pieces.
“Hey, you know anyone who’s in the market for a bike?” he asks with a laugh as he gets out.
“Not offhand,” I tell him. “But if anyone mentions it, I’ll send ‘em your way.”
He laughs. “Tell them to wear a helmet.”
Memoirs of a Rideshare Driver is a weekly series that tells true stories of my 10,000+ trips as a rideshare driver. I will post them every Monday.